


No One Like You

by poisontaster



Series: Heart 'Verse [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Reunion Sex, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-27
Updated: 2006-10-27
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:30:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5698444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam walks out of the train station...and into Dean's arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No One Like You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shotofjack](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=shotofjack).



> So a long time ago, shotofjack generously paid a lot of money to sweetcharityvox for me. And all she wanted was a fic in the vein of me and mona1347's Like a Hurricane, except "set" to The Scorpions' "No One Like You." Betaed by the ever-fabulous mona1347.

Dean's sitting on the hood of the Impala when Sam walks out of the train station.

And it's not like he's doing anything different or special; legs sprawled wide because Dean instinctively takes up a lot of room, his shirt dark and crumpled with sweat from the heat that hasn't dissipated one bit since the sun went down. But it's _Dean_ and it's been nine days of only being able to _hear_ that smirk over the phone, dick in hand, and suddenly Sam could give a shit that they don't do PDA's. He steps into that delta between Dean's legs and pulls his brother up to meet his mouth, hungry and harsh, already half-hard against the immovable object known as Dean's left thigh.

Of course, being Sam, he forgets to put down either his duffle or the guitar case and so the resulting clutch is lumpy and awkward. For a moment, though, Dean's arms are around him steel-band tight and Dean is making those desperate, choked noises he makes when it's really _good_ and he's got his brother's cock riding at considerable more than half-mast against his hip.

Sam's mind is jumbled; an indiscriminate mishmash of _you_ and _thank God_ and _ohmanfuckyounow_ and _Dean._ Dean.

Then Dean's pushing him away fast and kinda hard, sudden enough that Sam stumbles and Dean's got to dart forward and grab a handful of his shirt to keep him from going ass over teakettle. Sam blinks the glaze from his eyes and Dean says, "Jesus, Sammy. What are you trying to do, get us arrested? This is Mississippi, man." He rubs his shoulder where the guitar case dug into his arm.

Sam's blush heats up his face but the breathless shakiness of Dean's voice doesn't let him feel too much shame. "Nine days, man," he answers, shuffling his bag and shifting his grip on the guitar case handle. "Besides, there's nobody even around."

This last part is pretty true; a switching problem on the track resulted in a three hour delay and what was supposed to be a five hour trip turned into an eight hour one. On alighting from the train, Sam dawdled and took his time, half-aware he was likely to do something a lot like he had and he didn't want spectators.

"Who knew your ass missed my cock that much?" Dean says, grumbling, though he's still got on that grin he can't quite wipe away. "Oh. That's right. _I_ did." His smile widens before he nods at the guitar. "You take up folk singing for your bread and butter?" he asks. "Because I've heard you sing, Sam, and I gotta tell ya—you're gonna starve."

"You know, I must have been insane with horniness to think meeting up with you was a good idea," Sam says, shifting his stance. God, was Dean this pretty when he left? "I clean forgot what an ass you are." He shoves the case at Dean, who takes it clumsily. "This is for you, jerkass."

"Me?" Dean actually looks surprised, which Sam finds kind of weird because it seems like the most obvious thing ever and he'd felt like the worlds biggest tool walking across the parking lot with it. What was he going to do with it anyway? Dean's not wrong about his singing skills. But no, Dean really _is_ surprised and when, a moment later, it fades, he looks really pleased. Sam's grinning like a loon and Dean's going to tease him in a minute but Sam doesn't care. Not if he's actually managed to not only surprise Dean but make him happy.

"W…what?" Dean flips the latches carefully, like he's worried it's going to disappear on him. "It's not my birthday." He considers. "Is it?"

Sam laughs and goes around the driver's side to toss his bag in the back seat then returns to lean against the Impala's side, close enough they almost touch. "Nope. Though I _do_ plan on using this moment as evidence in your senility hearing." He watches as Dean lifts the guitar reverently out of the scuffed faux velvet of the interior and runs callused fingers over the strings. "I just saw it and wanted it. Wanted you to have it," he clarifies.

Busily tightening and tuning the strings, Dean takes a moment to give Sam a sharp, disbelieving look but he doesn't say anything, humming to himself and tapping the beat with one boot on the concrete.

Sam's tired and sort of limp from being alternately fried or frozen all day and his cock is _very_ interested in some one-on-one time with Dean and Dean's talented mouth but for the moment he's content to sit and listen to Dean strum through random bars and passages. The faint smile on Dean's face is echoed by the one on Sam's.

For a moment, Dean's playing crystallizes into a single, vaguely familiar song, the notes pulling at Sam's memory but not quite falling into place. Sam frowns and leans forward, trying to catch the words Dean's singing under his breath. He has time to hear _…I imagine the things we'll do…_ before the movement catches Dean's attention and he comes out of himself to put a hand over the strings, looking embarrassed. Sam runs his finger idly over the curve of Dean's ear and feels the heat of Dean's blush.

Dean ducks away. "It's not bad," Dean says, twirling the guitar around and depositing it safely back into its molded bed. "You paid too much for it, though."

"Oh?" Sam pushes to his feet, goes around to the passenger's side and climbs in. The old upholstery sighs familiarly and—even with the windows open—Sam's suddenly enveloped in the smell of her. Some last vestige of tension he wasn't even aware of ebbs out of him and he lolls, boneless. "Howd'ya you figure?"

Dean slams in the other side and puts the key in the ignition, turning it. Sam feels the Impala start up, the thick purring rumble that goes through his whole body. He knows Dean gets off on the Impala. Jesus; the whole fucking world knows how Dean gets off on his car. But the truth is, the car is such an enormous part of his life, an enormous part of _Dean_ that he doesn't know how he can help having it all tangled up together. "Because you're a rube, Sammy my boy." He pats Sam's thigh absently and Sam's cock just about purrs. "And everyone can see it. From a mile away. Maybe two."

"Dean," he says faintly, head rolling loose on his neck. " _Dean._ "

"Yeah?"

Sam reaches over and puts his hand between Dean's legs, cupping and feeling Dean lengthen and harden, just under that light brush. "I really want you to fuck me." He looks up from his gently writhing hand—and the satisfying bulge underneath it—to Dean's face, seeing his jaw tense with the effort of concentration. "That is the idea, Sam. The motel's not far."

"No." Sam twists his fingers around, so his knuckles are riding up and down the length of Dean's cock and listens to Dean's breath rasp and catch. "You don't understand. I want you to fuck me here. In the car."

" _In my car?_ " Dean asks with every bit of outrage as though they've never fucked in the car before.

"Or on it," Sam adds. With his off hand he unbuckles his belt, thumbs the button on his jeans open. "I'm really not picky. I just… Jesus, Dean. Nine days. You tellin' me you don't feel it?"

But he knows Dean does. Not just because of the white-knuckled grip Dean's got on the wheel or the tension in his leg as he accelerates. Not just because of the way Dean's eyes keep darting, road-Sam, road-Sam.

"Nine days," Sam repeats, pushing his zipper down one-handedly. He's sorta glad he's tired; it gives his voice the deeper fucked-out rasp that Dean can't resist. Because… Well, just because. Because he needs Dean to give in. "Nothing but my hand and your voice. Telling me to touch myself. Telling me how. It wasn't the same, Dean. I missed…" Sam spreads his legs as wide as he can in the foot well, parts his jeans so his boxers—and the head of his cock, peeking through them—shows. It's already damp, shiny, more pre-come beading in the slit. "Sometimes you don't take your ring off. And I feel it, pressing against me."

"Jesus… Sam, you're killing me here." Dean squirms in his seat. " _We're in the parking lot._ "

"Then find somewhere else," Sam says. "Somewhere where I can touch you."

"Where I can touch _you_?" Dean counters, his voice gritty.

"Yeah." Sam's back arches a little and his cock pushes a little more from his shorts.

"Christ," Dean whispers, but he throws the car in gear and peels out in a slight squall of tires.

"When I called you," Sam says, undeterred, "when I was on the other end of the line, touching myself for you…were you touching yourself for me? Did you get hard, hearing me? Did you fuck your hand until you came? Did you rub it into your belly and go to sleep, thinking about me? Or did you wipe it away?"

"Sam…" Dean's voice sounds like it hurts, ripping out of his throat.

"I used my fingers in me, trying to pretend it was you. Trying to make it feel like you. It wasn't the same. I should have brought the dildo." A thought occurs to Sam and he lifts his head from the seat rest. "Did you use it? While I was gone?"

He reaches up and scrapes his thumb over Dean's bottom lip. It feels bitten. Chewed. He imagines Dean with his cock in hand and his teeth cutting into his lip while Sam talks to him through the phone. His hips stutter up a bit, fuck against air, only air. God, how can Dean just _sit there_ when Sam feels like he's about to come apart? Dean's head tilts down slightly and then he's taking Sam's thumb into his mouth, sucking on the tip.

Sam inhales, feeling Dean's tongue play around his thumb. "God. Please hurry, Dean."

"I am," Dean replies, nipping the callus on the ball of Sam's thumb. He turns right and suddenly they're bumping unevenly, gravel pinging up against the undercarriage.

"Did you?" Sam asks, again smoothing his thumb over both Dean's lips this time. "Did you use the dildo? Pretend it was me?"

Dean shudders. When he answers, Sam can barely hear him. "You know I did."

Sam's hips thrust again, sharply, as the Technicolor movie of it plays across his brain. Dean, naked and sprawled out, legs spread, nipples hard. Dean has such tight, sensitive nipples, almost like a girl's. The rest of him isn't girlish at all, not even his soft, pink mouth. He pictures Dean's cock, thick and full, smearing pre-come into the hairs on his stomach. He pictures Dean's fingers around the dildo, going in. He knows the noise Dean makes when penetrated, higher than you'd expect, like before his voice broke and deepened. Not pained, but startled, as if he didn't expect it.

"Was it good?" Sam's thumb ventures across Dean's chin, down his throat where he can feel Dean's pulse drumbeat through the thin skin. "I know that you came, but was it good?"

"Yeah," Dean says thickly, turning the wheel sharply and now the Impala's banging over something considerably less even than gravel. "Yeah, it was good."

"This car… It's like home, Dean. If we live anywhere, it's this car." Sam says. The windows are all open; he can smell the thick Mississippi night, hear it, and yet the windshield is clouding with condensate and Sam feels hot enough to melt. "I want you to fuck me here. I want… I want to be home with you."

He expects a wisecrack. Dean's never particularly forgiving when Sam breaks down and says something so…overtly emotional. He doesn't expect Dean to snarl, "… _fuckin' cocktease_ …" and throw the car suddenly into park so that Sam lurches forward, palms slapping the dash. He doesn't expect Dean to lunge across the bench and batten onto him, tongue thrusting deep into Sam's mouth, hard muscled thigh slipping between Sam's legs as he hauls Sam up and sideways.

And now Sam's the one moaning as Dean grinds his mouth and teeth and stubble against Sam's skin, marking him, as Dean tugs him the rest of the way out of the slit of his boxers and _there_ is that familiar unforgiving pressure of weighty silver, riding right along the vein. "Oh, God. Dean. Yeah. Oh, God."

Dean's knee hits something on the radio and music suddenly blares from the speakers, brash, brassy guitars and hard, thumping drums. Sam worms his arm around Dean, shoving under Dean's crumpled shirt to the damp, heated skin underneath, skimming around his waist and under the band of his jeans where the curve of Dean's ass seems to rise up to meet him. Sam's left leg is twisted under them and he can't get good friction as Dean tongues and gnaws the sensitive skin of Sam's neck.

Dimly he recognizes the song, sped up and with full instrumentation; the same song Dean had been playing on the hood of the car, back at the train station. The Scorpions. "Missed you," Dean growls against the join of Sam's throat and jaw. _…I imagine the things we'll do…_ "…fuck you so hard, Sammy. God. Can't wait." _…I can't wait for the nights with you…_

"Yeah," Sam agrees, twisting for an angle less…ow…likely to break something. Then Dean's mouth is on his again and it's not like he _forgot_ how good Dean is at the whole kissing thing but memory doesn't nearly add up to the reality. Even though Sam _hates, hates, hates_ every single other person that's gotten to kiss this mouth, he reaps the benefits of all that practice and suddenly moving seems less important than the pressure of Dean's lips, the play of Dean's tongue around his. Dean's hand closes over his cock again and Sam whines, groping across Dean's body to return the favor.

Suddenly, Sam's arms are empty and Dean's back on the other side of the car, looking at Sam like he's either going to kill him or fuck him to death. "Out of the car, Sam."

"Wh… Dean, I…" He's confused. He's hard, he's leaking pre-come like there's a faucet in his cock and Dean… Why is he all the way over there?

"Dude. You're six-five. I'm six-one. This is not happening in here. Get out of the car." Dean closes his eyes and takes a shaky, gulping breath. "Before I snap your leg fucking you blind."

Sam scrambles out of the car, his whole body throbbing in time with the pulse in his cock. Dean comes around the hood and Sam goes to his knees like he's been hamstrung, his fingers finding familiar holds on Dean's hips. Belt, button, zipper, shorts. Practice makes fast, if not perfect; he's got Dean's cock out in seconds, nuzzling his face into the tender skin of Dean's hip, the thick musk of his pubic hair; his cheek and then his lips against the veined skin of Dean's prick. "Love your cock," he whispers against Dean's skin.

"Wait." Dean groans as Sam mouths messily against the side of his cock, licks shaft and balls in a single stripe. "Fuck, Sam, _wait_ …" He pulls at Sam's arms and shoulders. Sam whines, not wanting to go, but Dean keeps tugging and finally, Sam staggers to his feet. Dean's arms go around him, keeping him upright and they kiss again, trading sharp, hungry noises between them. "Take your clothes off," Dean murmurs finally, fingers tangling and retangling in Sam's hair. "Fuck. Take your clothes off. Everything."

Sam nods, without the voice to reply. He's out of his tee-shirt before his heart beats twice. It's not any cooler, but the feeling of open air against his clammy skin makes him shiver. He's got his jeans and shorts down to his knees before he realizes Dean isn't moving, isn't getting undressed. He's just watching Sam.

"Dean, what?" He swallows. Feels an ass with his pants half down and steps out of them. His cock bobs against his belly once, twice, as if knocking for attention. "Aren't you getting undressed?"

Dean's face is… Sam doesn't even know what that look on Dean's face is. But the corner of his mouth crooks up in a half smile and he shakes his head. "No."

"Dean…"

Dean steps into his space, puts his hands on either side of Sam's neck, thumbs brushing across the big veins where Sam's heart beats too hard. "Trust me," Dean murmurs, brushing his mouth across Sam's lips, his chin, the angle of his jaw. Sam's hands slide under Dean's shirt, fingers stroking the thick muscles of Dean's back, hungry for touch.

Sam nods again. "I do." He shudders again when Dean's hands start to roam over the skin of his neck, his shoulders. Dean's thumbs dip into his collar bones, massage-stroking across the bone. "I just…" His hips thrust forward and briefly—deliciously—his cock slurs against Dean's before Dean pulls and pushes them apart again so they're only connected by their hands on each other. "I waited… I just want you, Dean. You know? C'mon…fuck me." He ducks to try to look Dean in the eyes. "Just fuck me. Feel me. I'm so open already. Jesus. I just want you in me. Fuck me. Please?"

"I will," Dean promises. His hand palms over Sam's dick all too briefly before he's easing Sam back onto the hood. The metal is still warm, almost too hot against his bare skin. "God, Sammy. Swear." He reaches between Sam's legs and his index finger circles Sam's opening, making Sam jerk and cry out and his ass clench and flex, holding Dean's finger against him.

"Oh God," he chokes. "Dean…"

Dean's other hand comes up to Sam's mouth, fingertips settling lightly on his lips. "Shhh." Sam opens his mouth, trying to capture the digits, but Dean pulls away again, leaving him to suck on air.

"Dean…"

Dean's hands slide to Sam's wrists, close over the bone and stretch his arms up over his head. "Trust me," he says again, curving Sam's fingers around the top edge of the hood. His body nudges Sam's legs apart, the denim of his jeans rubbing against Sam's body hair. Sam's shivering, despite the heat; Dean's fingers spiral back down his arms, fingernails scratching across his pits, massaging the shaking muscle underneath. Dean's cock is touching him, light and almost not-present except for the sticky blurt of Dean's pre-come dampening his thighs. He feels Dean's hips rock against him, butterfly thrusts. "You wanna come just once, Sammy? Or twice?" One good firm thrust and a hard scratch of fingernails over both Sam's nipples at the same time and Sam's arching up against Dean, his legs wrapping around Dean's hips. "Or you think you could go more than twice?"

Sam groans, not even sure how to _answer_ that. Not that it matters, because Dean scratches down his stomach, across his belly and says softly, "I think you can go at least twice."

"Oh God, Dean, just touch me," Sam says, his voice breaking and trembling. "For the love of God, please just touch me."

Dean groans softly and he tugs Sam up towards him. Sam's more than willing to go along with this agenda, reaching down to wrap his fingers around both his cock and Dean's as Dean's lips fumble across his again.

"Dean," Sam slurs through the kiss, "please, man. I get it, I do, but I can't wait anymore. I can't. You can do whatever you want to me later or tomorrow…but I need it now. I just… I need it. Please."

Dean laughs darkly against Sam's lips. "Anything I want?" he asks, teeth teasing Sam's bottom lip.

"Anything," Sam promises recklessly, knowing he may regret it later...except in the way he won't. Dean may be the world's biggest cocktease, but Sam knows without false vanity that there are few things Dean likes more than watching him come.

He's been distracted; he hadn't noticed Dean producing lube or slicking his hand or anything like that until one thick, lubed finger slides into him. Sam's back arches and he whines, trying to push it out, trying to take it in. "Shhh," Dean soothes, stroking deep and steady, letting Sam get used to it. "Missed this, too. So hot. Sweet little tight ass. So big to be so tight, so little inside."

Sam realizes he's just holding their cocks together, overwhelmed. Loosely and still tingly-stupid, he starts his hand moving again, pressing them tautly, sweetly together. "Because you haven't been in me," he breathes back, rocking back and forth on that finger now.

Dean jerks and the finger drives suddenly deeper, crooking against Sam's prostate. Sam's legs wrap tighter and he bites down on his moan, throat arching back for Dean to nuzzle against. "Fuck," Dean breathes, teeth scraping against Sam's Adam's apple. "Gonna mark you all up."

"Yes," Sam says eagerly.

"You'll feel me for another nine days." Two fingers now, rough and a little hasty. Dean's mouth sucking bruises into Sam's skin.

"Yes," Sam says again, twisting and tightening. "C'mon, Dean, it's enough. Now, okay? Fuck me now."

"Yeah, okay," Dean mutters, apparently done with all the teasing and _thank God for that_ because Sam feels like he's about to start begging and that's just never a good state of affairs.

They shift around, the Impala's hood creaking, and then one of Sam's legs is over Dean's shoulder and the head of Dean's cock is making itself very much at home inside him and God Jesus, but nine days is too fucking long to go without this. "You…crumple my hood, I…kick your ass," Dean pants, making tiny shifts in him, around him, until it feels like they're welded as a unit.

"You chose th…the venue," Sam gasps back, torquing his knee to bring Dean in better and closer. "God, Dean…fucking _move_ , all right?"

"Such a demanding bitch," Dean grouses without heat, drawing slickly out and then sliding thickly back in. Sam's hands catch onto Dean's forearms, digging. "Oh…oh...Sammy…"

"Yeah. And that's why," Sam says smugly, head tipping back and eyes closing as he lets himself feel Dean in him. Sam's fingers slip down his body to enclose his cock, stroking himself in time with Dean's thrusts.

"Get you back to the motel, gonna do this to you all over again."

"Yes," Sam agrees because he has _no problems_ with that agenda. Dean reaches up and under Sam's shoulder and suddenly pulls him _there_ and down and then what was really good sparks into _really fucking fantastic_ and Sam kind of loses the ability to make coherent sentences.

Dean turns his head against Sam's thigh, starts biting and sucking in another set of bruises that Sam will be wearing for days, one or the other of them pressing their fingers into them as a reminder. His thrusts are slow, easy, like they've got all fucking night. "Dean," Sam says. "Dean, you feel really fucking good, but you gotta…" His fingertips dig into Dean's arms again. "You gotta go faster, man. I need… I need it, Dean."

Dean's hand comes off the hood to hook through Sam's hair, tugging and caressing at the same time. "Yeah," Dean growls. "Yeah, me too, Sammy."

The next snap of his hips drives him deep and hard, like his dick is arrowing for Sam's heart. The Impala rocks on her wheels and Sam cries out, sharp and breaking. Dean pulls him up for their mouths to clash crookedly. Sam's spine is bent at an angle he thinks only yoga masters should be able to manage, but he just wraps his arms around Dean and holds on, loving the tongue fucking between his lips and the cock buried deep, deep in him. Loving everything about this.

Dean pants and makes quiet whimpering moans that mean he's really close, in between soft pleas of "Sam" and "Sammy".

And there's nothing he can do except lie back and let it wash over him, let his body writhe and move with Dean's, feeling the heavy fullness of Dean's cock rock over his prostate again and again until it feels his spine should fuse with the pleasure jolting up his body. "Dean," he answers in counterpoint, always in counterpoint. "Dean…I want…I want…"

Except Dean already knows what Sam wants. His fingers mesh with Sam's around Sam's cock, his thumb unerringly finding that spot under the head that makes Sam buck and mewl. "Dean…"

"I know, baby." He spreads Sam's legs wider, Sam's skin sticking to the metal, Sam's body opening wider than he would have thought possible so it feels like Dean's cock is _right there_ , just like Dean leans on doorbells, buzzing and buzzing endlessly until someone finally comes or he gets bored. The comparison is so wild that Sam laughs and that laugh loosens something within him so that his orgasm breaks over him like a wave.

Sam convulses, his head rapping on the metal of the hood, his hands, chest and belly sticky with the spurt of his come, wringing out of him. His voice shatters over the syllable of his brother's name.

He doesn't know when Dean comes; his own orgasm leaves him limp and even more exhausted, covered in a film of their combined sweat and when he comes back to himself, Dean is slipping out, leaving Sam aching and damp. Dean takes Sam's hand and swipes it the length of his torso, gathering Sam's come. Sam lifts his head with effort. "Dean, you don't have to…"

"Shhh," Dean says again, before his tongue swabs around Sam's fingers, hot and thorough, licking him clean.

 _Nine days without that too,_ Sam thinks dimly. "Do we have to go right away?" he asks faintly, nothing in him inclined to move.

Dean's hand ruffles through his hair, letting blessed air touch his scalp. Sam sort of purrs and rolls his head into the touch. Shut up. It feels good. "Naw," he answers slowly, the drawl in his voice thicker and more pronounced. Sam smiles to himself. Dean only sounds like that when he's either tired enough to pass out or well-laid. "We can stay a while."

Sam's smile widens sleepily. "Really did miss you," he says.

"Yeah," Dean says, leaning to brush his lips over the flat part of Sam's hip. "That's because you're a girl."

"I get up off this car, I'm kicking your ass."

"You get up off that car and I'm falling down in shock, you silly fucked-out whore."

"Yeah, well…shut up."


End file.
